


We Will Never Save The World: The Dark Knight

by alexiel_neesan



Series: We Will Never Save The World [2]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), DCU
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-08
Updated: 2011-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-15 12:17:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexiel_neesan/pseuds/alexiel_neesan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>It was still Gotham. But the Batman here wasn't their.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (the main story)

**Author's Note:**

> [   
> ](http://s82.photobucket.com/albums/j269/alexiel_neesan/?action=view&current=Wewillneversavetheworldheader.jpg)
> 
> [   
> ](http://pics.livejournal.com/alexiel_neesan/pic/00044kef/)

*

They did not catch the shift.

One moment they were in Gotham, the next... they were still in Gotham. Only one city felt this way, and Jason can confirm that Gotham felt the same regardless of the world. But it did not feel right for their Gotham. The skyline was not the same. The very roof they were on was not the same as it was two heartbeats earlier.

They fell back to back, Jason with his guns drawn, Tim with his staff in a ready stance.

"What the hell? What did you do, Wayne?"

They turned around, surveying the big rises around them, the next roof, the fire escape.

"I didn't do anything, Jason."

It was answered with a snort. "Then where are we, Boy Genius? And what the hell we are doing here?"

"That's what I'd like to know." The voice was _wrong_. Robin and Jason turned as one man, facing the moving shadows. The _armor_ was wrong. They attacked as the shadow moved into view, not pausing even for one heartbeat.

The man in the Batman suit was not their father.

*

Jason could stand still. It was a nice trick to know, most people were afraid of unmoving people. He suspected it had something to do with death. He just could not keep still at the moment, like Tim was doing, seated before the computer and the array of screens showing news channels.

The overly bright ceiling was too low, the floor material seemingly caught between ground and concrete. He uncrossed his arms again, straightened up, slouched against the table, re-crossed his arms. There was not enough activity to hold Tim's attention to the screens; he knew the younger man was watching him.

Jason hated this 'Cave.

"He's most probably watching us, you know."

"Tch, of course he is, he's the goddamn _Batman_." Jason gave up on looming with the help of the table. He briskly crossed over to the screens. There was a table with bits and pieces underneath, a scanner, stack of cd-roms, elements of grappling hooks in various stages of evolution, scraps of metals, what looked to be grenades -except it couldn't be because this Batman was very much against lethal force, if the near order he had given Jason was anything to go by.

This Batman did not know how to not show expression yet though; his mouth had twisted and soured when Jason had replied "Live by the gun, die by the gun - at least I hope it'll be faster and less painful this time around". Tim had looked ready to throw up at that.

Tim was still holding the old newspaper. _The Batman: Criminal or Hero?_ it glared, Harvey Dent's picture peeking from the folded pages. Harvey's _whole face_ , and wasn't that strange to see. Jason had not read everything, just enough to catch the gist of it. The Joker had disfigured District Attorney Dent and then the Batman had killed Dent.

Or so the newspaper said.

"You really think he's going to explain that?" asked Jason, motioning at the paper.

Tim looked up. He had taken his mask off. "I'd like to think so -but it's not currently our main problem."

*

Tim came in the living room, his face white and drawn. Jason rose from the couch he had been sprawling on, and Bruce turned away from the windows.

"Way- ...Tim?" Jason took his shoulders. Tim did not raise his head to look at him, staring blankly straight ahead. Jason slouched to catch his eyes.

"He died," Tim said. "With his parents, during the act." There was only one person other than Bruce that important to Tim.

"Dick...," sighed Jason, closing his eyes. His hands tightened on Tim's shoulder.

That had been the first thing Tim had looked for, three days ago, when he had had access to a computer, looking for them. This world's Jason Todd, son of Willis and _Catherine_ Todd, had died in a gang war in Crime Alley. Jason had not been surprised. Angry on his other him's behalf, but not surprised; he had accepted it. Accepting this world's Tim however, had been harder. There was a Jack Drake. He was currently married to a Dana Winters. There was no record of a previous marriage, no record of a child.

Timothy Jackson Drake had never existed here. Tim had shrugged it off.

Bruce was watching them, concerned. He had never hidden that he was intrigued by them, either. There was so much they kept close to them.

"How?" He asked, recognizing the name from what they had explained to him. Bruce's voice was uncharacteristically soft, none of Brucie's socialite drawl or Batman's growl in it. Maybe it was this Bruce's real voice.

"Zucco - one of Maroni's executive," answered Tim. He gripped Jay's hands on his shoulders.

Jason pulled him into a hug.

*

"J," growled the Voice. "What are you doing here."

Jason grinned and knocked out the last guy, before getting zip-strips out. He liked needling Bruce, in or out of the suit. It was not that he liked the pain, but that, paradoxically, pain was comfortable.

"Golly Gee, Batman, what does it look like?"

"I told you to stay put."

"Yeah, right. Robin's doing all the research. Me? Me, I'm pretty much useless in that domain. An extra pair of hands can't hurt in the street."

"You have no idea-"

"Pull the other one, Bats. I've been going at it longer than you - Robin's been doing it for longer than you."

"You don't know this city."

"Yeah, good one. But I know Gotham. So I can follow you around, or I can go behind your back." Jason walked to Batman - and wasn't that weird to think - poked him in the chest, just on the symbol. "You don't have mush of a choice. You can't stop me."

They were the same height. Jason was beginning to get past being weirded out by that, was beginning to get used to look at Batman, and at Bruce, in the eye.

"Hell," he added. "You can't stop _us_."

*

Jason was tempted to jump and sit on the counter. Alfred turned slightly and looked at him at the exact moment he was about to give in to temptation.

Jay held up his hands. "I haven't done anything!"

"Yet." Alfred finished cutting the sandwich. Jay twitched. Too much energy, too high strung. He wanted to move, to run through this Gotham's dark streets, to leave his mark and be marked further by the city. He was playing by Bruce's rules for now, following the Dark Knight like a bruising shadow - they would see who would break their little arrangement first. He was beginning to understand what was making the man tick, too. It was weird that most people on the street were more ready to talk to Jay than to the Bat though. It made for a nice bit of mindfuck.

This Bat was ruthless and dangerous. Jay, when he thought about it, and he tried not to too much, liked this Batman, and the man under the suit.

Jay had offered to give Alfred a hand with the sandwichs and stuff. Alfred had raised an eyebrow, plainly asking which bloody idea had came across the young man's head this time.

"I do know how to cook, you know. Not up to your standards, but I kept myself from starving."

"That would explain the sorry state you were in, young man. I daresay you look much better than you did a month ago."

Jason grinned and pushed _'a month ago'_ far to the back of his mind. There was enough of one person thinking about the time they had already lost there.

*

"Special delivery!" sang Jason when he got in the Cave, making a show of balancing the tray on one hand.

The place still unnerved him, and he tried to spend as little time as he could there. Tim did not seem to have the same problem. Ever since Bruce accepted them around, Tim had set shop here. He had his own terminal, his own table, his own chair - his own goal, in addition to the Mission. Jason knew he slept here more often than in his room in the penthouse. He ate there too, when he remembered to eat.

Tim did not move when Jason put the tray down on the table. There was not a inch of it free, so he just put it on top of sheets covered in scribbles and spreadsheets and printed bits. Jason scooped a few up. He did not recognize anything that was new since last time he had came down.

"You just hurt Alfred's feelings when he has to take back a full tray you know? Thought you had a better sense of self-preservation than that..."

There... was not enough going on on the screens - there was just the perpetual feed of Gotham's news, some forums, the endless calculations in a corner. It lacked the simultaneous conversations carried around the world with people working on string theory and other obscure researches, scans of books from obscure universities and less obscure ones, and other informations opened, closed, researched, dismissed.

The fingers dancing on the keyboard had not slowed, bloodshot eyes darting up and down and to the sides, dragging information from all sources. Jason snapped his fingers in front of Tim's face. Tim barely reacted, Jason not even rating a side glance in his current book.

"What do you want, Jason?"

Jason frowned. "For you to eat, first. Then after maybe you can drop the zombie psycho act."

*

"What the fuck, Tim!"

"... what?" Jason rated a side glance today.  

"You're stopping this right now," said Jason, and he joined acts to words, turning Tim's chair around to face the Cave and him, before he picked him up and threw him over his shoulder.

"No! I can't -" Tim's struggles were half-assed at best.

"You can stop, the world - either world -  is not going to go away in the time you'll take to sleep, bath and eat."

"No - Jason, let go of me-"

They were already halfway to the elevator. "No. As a matter of fact, how about I use the present situation to drive it home: you could have made me _let go of you_ a dozen times over already. And you _didn't_."  

"Put me down no-"

"No."

"Jason! Put me down!"

They emerged into the penthouse, light filtered in through the windows, the sun shining between the clouds. Tim blinked at the light. Jason did not loosen his grip on him, marched to the rooms they used.

He dropped Tim on the bed. "You're no use to anyone drop dead tired." He grabbed Tim again when he tried to get off, using his weight to pin the kid to the bed. He took Tim's shoes off, then his jeans.

"What are you doing?!"

"Making sure you'll get some sleep," Jason answered, still pining Tim. He took his own shoes off, then his pants, finally taking his sweater off. He manhandled Tim under the previously undisturbed covers, trapping Tim's arms by putting his around the kid's chest, entwining their legs together despite Tim's feeble kicks.  Tim tried to ram an elbow into Jay's stomach, tried to move.

"Get off. Get off!"

"No."

Tim continued to struggle, trying to get leverage, trying to leave. It was a disoriented struggle at best, nothing of the fighter, nothing of Robin. Just Tim. Just him, his back tense and every muscle strung out and ready to blow under the pressure. Jason took his wrist with one hand.

"Get off get off me get off get off-"

"No Tim. I'm not going anywhere." Jason hugged him, more than he was restraining him, the rocking awkward in their position. "I'm not going anywhere," he repeated.

The hiccup was not quiet enough.

*

Tim was facing the windows in the dark. The lighted buildings outside were enough to see were to step, not enough to read, enough to see someone's eyes.

Bruce carefully stepped to his side, watching what he was watching. The young man was more often seen in the Cave than up with the rest of the world.

"This is the view I would have seen from Wayne Tower," said Tim. "Back home." Bruce could see the way the young man's forehead wrinkled, the eyebrows forming a severe line over ice blue eyes. "I never went there," Tim finished.

There was an empty mug on the low table behind them.

"I wish I could help you more," said Bruce. Tim turned to look at him, then turned back to the windows.

"You're... You've already done a lot. More than I could have hoped for." Tim rarely talked to him to his face. He seemed to be more comfortable with Batman than with Bruce.

"I'm sorry," said Bruce, scrutinising him. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

Tim did not turn his head away from the windows. "Your eyes are brown. You're Jason's size. Your hair is more dark brown than black," he licked his lips. "It's... easier when you're in the suit, because you're Batman." He swallowed. "I made myself the way I am for Gotham, for Batman."

Bruce stared. He did not know how to answer to that. He doubted Tim was waiting for an answer. This kid -had he even the right to call Tim a kid?- was like him.  

"He's my father," said Tim. "But you're not him."

The strength of Tim's grip on his jacket surprised Bruce. He put his hands on trembling shoulders, closing the hug.

In the windows' reflection, Jason nodded at him and went back into the corridor.

*

"Remind me how you convinced me to do that again?" growled Jason.

"Power and information, wasn't it Timmy?" Bruce smiled at Tim, his eyes crinkling, all Brucie in his demeanor while he steered the young men to a table in the middle of the high-class restaurant, the waiters and staff bumbling to meet his demands.

"Exactly. Stop pulling on your tie Jason, you look fine."

They sat down. Bruce opened the menu.  Jason pulled on his tie some more. He could not stand the things when he was younger, and it had not changed since.

"I look like a hired gun. I betcha it'll be your pretty mugs in the papers tomorrow, not mine. Actually, I'd prefer it that way."

Tim daintily posed his head on his fist, leaning slightly over the plates and flower arrangements. "You could be my bodyguard." Something was dancing on the edge of his lips.

"Your dashingly handsome bodyguard, I hope," smirked Jason, leaning back in his chair. "And what would I be guarding your body against?"

"If all else fail," said Bruce, never taking his eyes off the menu for an instant, "I've been told I could play a convincing villain."

The laugh seems to take Tim by surprise.

*

The opened newspaper in Bruce's hands was affirming that Wayne had a boy-toy, as was the legend of the picture below the headline repeating.

"See?" said Jason as a good morning, "Told you I'd register as a hired gun."

Tim frowned at him around a bite of toast. "You're noted as a third party."

Alfred put a full steaming plate before Jason, refilling the mugs around the table. "A bunch of drivel, that article. Master Bruce, more coffee?"

"No, thank you, Alfred." He folded the newspaper and put it aside, Jason filching it as soon as it was put on the table. "It's not exactly what I had hoped for, but it can be used."

"The long lost relative shtick'd work better," said Jason. "You can pass off as cousins, physically."

Alfred frowned at his table manners. Jay hastily swallowed the eggs before wiping his mouth. Was that a smile on Tim's lips?

"A public persona of boy-toy could have its uses, but, no offense, I will not kiss you in public," Tim said to Bruce.

Jason almost choked in his mug.

"Duly noted," said Bruce.

*

Jason still disliked the Cave.

"It's... a good idea," he admitted reluctantly. The metallic cage containing the Batman suit was out and open, some pieces and extras laying on the table next to it.

"But?" prompted Bruce.

There was the clicks of Tim's keyboard at his back; it had became a familiar sound. The Cave was wrong, well, wrong-er, when this sound was not in the background.  

"It's more than a suit, B, it's..." Jason nibbled on his knuckle, his arms crossed. "It's not - _fuck_." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows a hard line.

The keyboard's sounds stopped. Jay felt a hand on his arm. Five month ago, it would have been enough to make him bash Tim in the nearest wall or something. Five months, and counting. Things had changed, but not enough for him to be comfortable wearing the Batman suit.

"You still should have one in your size," said Tim at his side. "Just in case there is need of a diversion. It's better armored than your jacket, too."

Jason opened his eyes, sighed. "I like my jacket. I like my outfit the way he is. I can disappear in a crowd, try to do that with your fancy capes and stuff. And you know that already, why am I even saying it."

Tim put one of the spare gauntlets, made a fist. It was too big. It would be too tight for Jason, he had tried.

"I agree on the more armor front," said Bruce. "It might be time for you to met my supplier."

The tiny smile at the corner of his lips made the boys share a look.

*

Jason was this close from asleep. The patrol had been uneventful, just regular Gotham crap. He had flopped bonelessly face first on the bed once in his room, had not bothered taking his clothes off. The bed dipped, at his hip.

"What?" he mumbled.

"You could..." started Tim. "... he needs a Robin, here too."

Jason suddenly felt very awake, too much for the hour and place. He turned, facing Tim's back. Heh. Of course. He grabbed him, the younger teen rigid under his hands, dragged Tim against his chest. Jason smelled of exhaust gas and blood and gun powder. Tim smelled of the sort of coppery tang of the Cave.

It felt too complicated to explain, too complicated to think about and make clear, anger on the edge and at the core, tears of the kid he was not anymore inside and dregs of the hope that had killed him. His grip tightened on Tim for an instant.  

Jason was not Robin anymore, did not want to be Batman, only wanted... what exactly? Maybe only being him.

That was the need to sleep talking.

"You're already doing this job," he said to Tim's neck.

"But - I'm not-" Tim squirmed. Jason wrapped his arms around him -warm and moving and _alive_ \- and Tim stopped.

"It's-" All we have left of Dick here. All _you_ have left of Dick. "Keep dreaming on me wearing the black and blue, too. There's not enough alien babes around, and I'm not fabulous enough to pull it off."

That was perhaps an amused snort, in between his arms, but Tim did not say out loud what he was thinking. For all Jason knew, Tim had pictures of him when he had Nightwinged in New York, and he had painstakingly drew all the differences between the two versions. Jason made himself comfortable, still hugging Tim. The last thing he thought, before sleep claimed him, was _I won't turn into Dick. But maybe he had- has a point about the touching thing.  
_  
*

"I seem to have acquired... sons," said the gravely voice above his head.

Gordon choked into his coffee - whether it was at the intrusion or at the sentence was left to speculation. He moped the luck-warm liquid that had splashed on his chin and tie, frowning up at the moving shadows. "You don't need me to tell you how it happens, do you?"

Gordon interpreted the silence as a laugh.

"Does it have something to do with the rumors saying you have a shadow with a liking to knives and a hatred of drug dealers?" he continued.

"They said they would contact you soon."

"That wasn't an answer," grumbled Gordon. When he glanced up, the shadow had disappeared.

*

Surprisingly, Lucius Fox - who was nothing like the Lucius Fox from the other world, from what Jay remembered of him - took to Jason immediately, or maybe it was the other way around. Bruce and Tim looked at them going on way to use and improve light meshed armor, lighter and easier to use than the Batman hard suit, and finally left them to it.

Tim came down from Bruce's office a bit later - Jason and Lucius had since then moved on prototype vehicles.

"Mr Fox?"

"Yes - ah, forgive me, I think we did skip the presentations earlier, didn't we?" answered Lucius.

"Oh, that's not a problem... I'm Tim, Tim Drake Wayne. I was wondering if you could answer some of my questions?"

"But of course."

Jason rolled from under the vehicle he had been looking at, and sat up, looking at Tim. It was Tim's research, Tim's quest - but it involved them both, and everyday for the past month, Jason had wondered if it was worth it to keep looking. This place was Gotham. There was a place for them here. He did not knew how to start talking about it, though.

*

The next day, they had official papers, official identities, jobs, and Tim had a position high enough to be able to at least talk to the few contacts Lucius Fox had gave him, and for those contacts to answer.

Jason and Lucius talked shop and the other shop going through the R&D department's stocks. They did not talk about  the dimension-hopping elephant in the room.

*

The Gotham Gazette, gothamgazette.com

Challenging Royalty? _by V. Vale_

 _Much talks have been going on since the new assistant to Wayne Entreprises' CEO Bruce Wayne was revealed earlier in the week. But we'll focus on the most important: who is Timothy Wayne? And where had our very own Prince hidden this relative of his all this time?  
_  
*

A-DA mag, adamag.com

Gotham Dynasties

 _Since the reveal of Timothy Drake Wayne, many talks have come up about the "Wayne Dynasty". But the Wayne family is not the only one whose print was left on the Dark City, shaping it into the sprawling metropolis it is today.  
_  
*

Half the departement climbed to the roof, guns at the ready. They had been alerted by beat cops downtown, of all people, who had nervously asked since when the Batsignal was back in place, months after it had been publicly dismantled. The whole city had to have seen it by that time - they could not afford a panic.

When Gordon opened the door to the roof, Bullock and Montoya at his side, the roof was clear, save for the spotlight. Then before anyone else could step foot on the roof, the door was violently closed. The three cops jumped, went back to back, aiming at the shadows.

There was one lone figure next to the spotlight, any defining features smoothed out in shadows. They could distinguish a face, white against the night.

"Please, Commissioner," it said. The voice sounded male, young but hard. There was not much more, no particular accent on this two words. "I am here to talk."

It raised his arms, gloved palm at head's level, parting a cape to the sides. Gordon lowered his gun to his side. He had a pretty good idea of who that was, actually. One of Batman's sons, finally introducing himself officially after weeks of rumors. Bullock and Montoya kept their guns aimed straight.

"Who are you? What are you doing?"

"You do know the importance of symbols Commissioner. I was restoring the power in one." The figure gestured to the spotlight, still lighted and intact.

"The Batman is a criminal."

"Batman is a symbol scaring police and criminals alike. His symbol is not him though." The figure stepped back, his hands still up. The spotlight lighted him indirectly, making the blood red color of his suit apparent. "His symbol keeps watch over the city."

Bullock slightly lowered his gun - "He's just a kid!" The mask he was wearing could not hide his youth, black hair uncovered.

"Make it work for you Commissioner. Make it work for Gotham."

"Who are you?" Gordon asked again.

"We're the next wave," answered a voice so close from him he jumped. The other figure had literally came out of the shadows, Bullock's and Montoya's guns aimed at him. He was taller and larger than the other one, wearing a cowl and blank lenses; but it was not the first thing Gordon saw.

Gordon saw the bat symbol, etched in leather across the man's chest .

"We're on your side," added the caped one. On this words, the both fell over the side of the building. When Gordon and Bullock rushed to the edge, there was no-one below.

"Commish!" called Montoya, looking over the light.

A piece of paper was taped to the switch. _We'll be around_ , it said. It was signed by a R in a circle, and a J.

*

"Ever heard of this one capital rule of survival? Don't fucking upset the one in black leather," Jay said to the guy writhing on the ground. He kicked him once more for good measure before getting the zip-strips out, then casually walked to the edge of the platform, peering down for Robin. He had jumped down without a sound after the main guy, yellow and black cape dark against the orange night.

"I'm down, street-side," Robin said in his ear. Jay took mental notes on the secure radios, one more gadget liberated from the forgotten parts of the R&D department. He had upgraded them, with Tim giving some pointers, to make them as close to the system they had been using back there. In his opinion, those were even better.

Jay slid down. There was the other guy, neatly tied to a support beam. Robin was doing his creeper act in the shadow next to him. He was even better at it than Batman. Jay walked toward his partner, the thought flowing easily in his mind, not a single scraggly end to snag on corners of hurt.  

When he thought about Batman, Bruce, it was never the other Bruce. It was always this one; here, now and tangible. When he thought about Robin... Robin was Robin.  Robin was _Tim_.  He was the same, but it was different, too. Jason thought _Robin_ when they patrolled together during the nights, when they fought side to side, when they waited in the shadows.  He thought _Tim_ up in the penthouse, around the table with Alfred and Bruce, hidden and waiting for morning light... It was simple, clean; here and now.  He did not want to remember before... where it was complicated and messy. This place felt more and more right with each passing day, and he did not know how to say so to Tim who was still searching desperately for an out.

*

Bruce tried to put his tie around his neck, his shoulders stiff and sore from the hits he had taken during the night. He paused just long enough in this fight to grab the coffee on the table.

"And the boys?" he asked to Alfred.

"After the night you had, they are still sleeping, Master Bruce, an example you would have done well in following."

Bruce did not reply to the pointed jab, but raised an eyebrow over the cup - and even that ached. "Sleeping, Alfred? Really?"  

Alfred sighed at the mangled tie knot and gently batted Bruce's hands away to re-do it properly. "If they were faking it, they were faking it very well, sir."

*

"We should have tried to end on the gender-bended world," said Jason.

It was probably early afternoon, but the blinds in their room were dark enough to make the time of the day irrelevant. The only light came from the bathroom, a whole room away from the foot of the bed. Tim lifted his head from Jason's arm and blinked wearily.

"What?"

Jay did not resist the urge to kiss him throughougly again. Tim just sort of shimmered against him, his bandages scratching against Jason's. Just scratches, just scratches, Robin had assured. Just scratches, just scratches, Tim had repeated. Robin needed better armor. Probably a better boyfriend, too, Jason thought sometimes.

"Ow." Tim glared at him. "And I repeat, _'what'_?"

"During the multiverse trip - I never told you about it?" There was no real need to point out they had not been talking, no-one had really been talking to Jason, as far as Tim had known at the time. "So there was this world where all the Amazons were big buff guys, and Superman and Batman and all the guys were chicks. Awesome chicks. The Atom was one BAMF." Jason rolled forward, hid into the crook of Tim's neck. There was one scar that he had left there. "Didn't have the time to look, but I bet I would have made one awesome chick." He grinned then, wide and wet and maybe there was tongue involved on the pale skin. "Though... Would that be considered incest or masturbation?"

He laughed when Tim kicked him, let himself fall from the bed and drag the covers down with him and Tim with them. Tim just got up instead of falling down, and walked to the bathroom, naked but for the bandages and the scars. "You seriously need to work on your pillow-talk."

*

Jason seemed to forget about the time they had been spending here, the time that was still passing. Tim did not.

But sometimes Tim watched, just watched like he was so good at, and Jason was laughing with Bruce, or making him laugh, Jason was driven out of the kitchen by Alfred, Bruce was smiling, Jason was focused on a random piece of machinery in the Cave or the R&D department, Alfred looked at them with thinly veiled pride, Jason was flirting with Lucius' secretary, with Bruce's, with Tim in the WE building, Jay was sending small fry screaming into the night just by dropping in the middle of a gathering and pity the fool who dared to shoot at him, as said fool would be shot right back -the GCPD had taken to recognize people shot in the foot or the hand as marked by "J"-, Batman was talking with Gordon and smirking, Jay was massacring the punching bag in the Cave, Jay was putting careful and precise stitches in Robin's flesh, Jason was watching him right back, the defiance in his eyes going hand in hand with desire as time passed, Jason fit so completely here and in ways he had never fit back home.

Tim sometimes wondered if it was fair to keep looking to go back, for Jason's sake.

Gotham here, the whole world... it was both simpler and more complicated. Simpler because there was, as far as Tim had researched, no active magic, ancient artifacts, aliens, Luthors, world-threatening power-hungry conspirations; more complicated, because it was more violent and darker, because there was no such thing as a simple case; the whole city was a web crumbling to the side if the wrong thread was taken out. Tim had learnt to love the compulsive and in depth researches, the informations coming together at least, the bigger pictures to preserve while cutting down the edges. There was so much to do, to help, to learn, to hate and to love.

He missed the Titans, and his friends, and Dick, and the parents he had left behind. But when he thought about maybe calling off the search and staying there, it felt like the guilt at the idea should have been stronger.

*

Tim climbed in the car, the valet closing the door for him. He had exhausted all relevants sources. He had done his best; and it had not been enough. He let his head loll on the head rest, his eyes staring at the car's ceiling.

Alfred cleared his throat, in the driver seat. "Shall I call Jason, Master Timothy?"

"No, no," answered Tim. "Leave him to his work, I-"  He dropped his head into his hands. He shuddered. He had failed. It should not - Tim could not pick what he was feeling. It was too tangled, too complicated. The relief in the back of his mouth was a sour, sour taste.

"Timothy?"

"I'm- I'll be fine, Alfred."

There was one more moment of silence.

"Where to, Timothy?"

Tim swallowed. "Let's go home."

They were never going back.

end.

  



	2. Conservation of Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Up in the penthouse._

Tim. Tim has his cheek pressed against the window and. It's not cold enough. Not cold enough. He wants.

He wants to reach back. He wants to touch. He wants to use the heat that's consuming him. He can't see himself in the window - there's too much foggy breath there. Too much heat. His hands slip and leave traces across the city.

The city is watching them. Is watching him.

His head falls back, still in contact with the window. He pants, a cloud ghosting on the surface. Another. Another. Another.

His hands slip again, low, low and he aches and he arches and he wants so much, so much.

"Ja-ay-" he sighs brokenly. The heat doesn't move, doesn't change, his only constant in the here and now. Roaming hands, not his. He wants.

He wants Jason. He wants that perfect moment where there is only both of us. Only sensation. Jason's hands, on his thighs, on his ass, on his sides, on his stomach and then up, across scars and skin, leaving sparks and heat and then down, between his legs, calluses and friction and wetness.

"Jason," in a breath. "Jason," and it's written across the glowing lights of the city. "Jay," and there is so much heat, so much, he can't hold everything in, there's too much, his skin is too small for the whole of him, too small for the both of them.

The city is still watching him in bleeds of lights. The window is colder against his cheek, against his open palms. Jason's still there.

/end.


	3. The Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> munnin_odanin asked for: _We Will Never Save the World - TDK, One of them gets hurt and/or Bruce realizes how much they've come to mean to him._

Bruce stepped out of the elevator, into the penthouse and… it was silent. It was the kind of silent he had came to know intimately, the one that spoke of emptiness and dust. It was alien to hear it again. And the realization as to why it was suddenly alien left him with a dizzying feeling.

He stepped back inside the elevator and went all the way down.

"-m fine, stop... fuckin’ fussin-"

"You are not fine Jason, stop it and lie back down!"

"Master Jason, please stop moving. Master Timothy, if you would be so kind as to pass me the gauze."

Bruce stayed on the side, watching the scene. The realization of the space the two young men had taken, of their importance and his attachment to them -he needed time to examine it, to make it fit into his mental world. He needed to see them.

Jason moved again, on the examination table, and Tim held on to him again, and Alfred very carefully paused in the cleaning of the gaping, bleeding wound on Jason's upper chest. Make that gaping, bleeding wounds, plural, looking like slashes that had clearly went through the material of his jacket. Jason hissed. Tim opened his mouth -probably to ask him to stop moving again, and they were both looking so pale, as if it was both of them who had been wounded and were bleeding in the Cave.

Bruce stepped into the light, the Bat talking. "What happened?"

Alfred barely looked up, Tim didn’t turn away from Jason. “Infestation in the sewers. Killer Croc is at large-” and Tim was holding Jason down again. The older man was too pale. He caught Bruce’s eye, over Tim’s dark head. _Get him out of here._

“I need a full report, Tim.”

Bruce could see Tim’s jaws moving, his hands tightening on Jason, his silence - he was... getting more open about his emotions. He could fake them better, too. He was not faking anything now.

Bruce put his hands on Tim’s shoulders, gently. “Robin.”

Tim stilled. Then he turned, and left toward his station, on the other side of the Cave, not quite out of hearing range. Jason wavered where he was sitting, started to tip over - Bruce was there just enough to catch him before he fell down. He didn’t offer any resistance to be laid down, then, and he stayed there. His eyes were closed, the lashes dark against his skin, too dark, and the area around his eyes too red, like his mouth. The slashes were terrible, from up close, starting just above his right clavicle, stopping just above his stomach, on the other side. Fabric and leather and armor had parted like butter, and so had skin, flesh and muscles under it. It was bleeding a lot, too much, and Bruce knew he’d be able to see the layers of the skin, the yellowish layer of fat, the blood filled dark red of the muscles in the deep gaps. Jason’s forehead was too warm under Bruce’s palm - heat was radiating from the younger man’s body in waves.

“ ‘m fine...” It came out as a mumble.

“I took the liberty of calling Doctor Thompson,” said Alfred, holding gauze soaked through too fast to the wounds.

Bruce nodded, kept his hand on Jason’s forehead. “No, you’re not fine,” he told him.

There was a humorless smile dancing on Jason’s lips, through the pain. “Go... punch the... scaly bastard... for me... heh.” _Keep Tim distracted_. He started coughing then, bright, bright blood in bubbles, an horrible gargle in his chest. Bruce took hold of his hands, and Jason gripped them as if his life depended on it. It probably did.

Tim sprung out of his chair at the same time the elevator’s door opened, maybe only half a second after Jason started coughing.

“Go,” wheezed Jason, his mouth full of blood. Leslie rushed in, then. Bruce held a struggling Tim back, away from them.

“We need to go,” he said. He doubted Tim would find it comforting, but Killer Croc needed to be taken down.

And this even if Bruce would have preferred to stay and worry about his sons.

/end

**Author's Note:**

> Now with additional scenes post-end by [](http://munnin-odanin.livejournal.com/profile)[**munnin_odanin**](http://munnin-odanin.livejournal.com/) : [More Than Complicated](http://munnin-odanin.livejournal.com/39565.html) and [Only This](http://munnin-odanin.livejournal.com/40061.html)  
> Rated PG and NC-17.


End file.
